


sold my soul to a three piece

by Pinkmanite



Series: hold me down [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Blowjobs, Come Swallowing, Dark, Dirty Talk, Infidelity, M/M, Power Imbalance, Sneaking Around, kyle is not a good guy and neither is will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 08:51:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14690649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite/pseuds/Pinkmanite
Summary: “First cock I ever sucked,” Will says, breathy. “Just because you wanted me to.”





	sold my soul to a three piece

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [adeleblaircassiedanser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adeleblaircassiedanser/pseuds/adeleblaircassiedanser) in the [PuckingRare2018](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PuckingRare2018) collection. 



Will gives zero shits about _wives_.

He’s never given a shit about wives, in the whole time they’ve done this. And really, neither had Kyle, not until now apparently.

Which is exactly what he keeps telling Kyle, every time he weakly tries to bring it up, waving around his left hand with that boring silver band on his finger. As if it has the power to ward Will off or something.

It doesn’t.

In fact, it almost does the opposite. Will kind of laughs, pushes himself even closer, and grins at him, determined. Dangerous.

And, despite his usual demeanor, his usual resolve, Kyle is weak, when it comes to Will, at least.

Which, Will is fully aware of.

“Come on,” Will murmurs, “remember that first time? When I was eighteen?”

He watches as Kyle swallows, trying to keep it together. It’s dirty pool, he knows, bringing up Kyle’s sins and throwing them back in his face, just so he can get what he wants. But Will knows that he has no right to take the high ground with this, knows there’s no point in pretending that this isn’t lower than low, debased.

And all that aside, he’s been left waiting, _wanting_ , since the night at the restaurant. Since the GM announcement itself, even.

It’s gluttonous, indulgent. And Will absolutely thrives on it.

He knows what Kyle wants, what Kyle likes. Knows how to push his buttons until he finally unravels into loose strings that Will can pull and tug as he pleases. There’s perhaps a lot of power there, Will knows, but he isn’t in it for that.

He’s a simple guy, with simple wants.

Which really just boils down to Kyle’s dick, preferably down his throat, immediately.

“Remember when you got me to suck you off, the very first time?” Will pushes, pressing his lips to Kyle’s throat, tonguing over the pulsepoint. As hard as Kyle tries to stifle it, he groans, choked off.

“First cock I ever sucked,” Will continues, breathy. “Just because you wanted me to.”

That does something for Kyle, and Will’s not sure if it’s positive or not, but frankly, he doesn’t care either way. Kyle’s got his hands on him now, gripping his arms and holding him still, neither pulling him in closer nor pushing him away.

So, Will continues.

“Just admit it,” Will hums against his skin, “you did this, you made me like this.”

And of course, that’s the part that Kyle decides to finally protest. “Bullshit, Will,” he hisses, breathy, “I didn’t make you anything, this is all you.”

Will rolls his eyes. “Fine, you don’t have to admit it.” He pauses, just to nip at the junction of Kyle’s neck and his shoulder, where it’s most sensitive. “But you can’t deny that you liked it. Still like it.”

And sure enough, Kyle doesn’t, doesn’t deny it all.

“Come on,” Will says again, but softer this time. “Just once, for old time’s sake.”

Kyle closes his eyes and exhales, slow, almost calculating. There still hesitance — of course there is, it’s Kyle — but Will knows he’s got him. Will knows that he’ll break.

He’s right.

“Goddammit,” Kyle groans in a breath, quiet enough that Will would’ve missed it if he wasn’t looking for it. But he was, so he grins, and lets the accomplishment wash over him as he feels Kyle melt like putty in his hands.

Will drops to his knees, strategically careful but unceremonious. Kyle lets him, but doesn’t look, won’t look. He screws his eyes shut, grips the edge of his desk with white knuckles. Will knows it won’t last long, he knows that Kyle can’t resist getting his hands on him, can’t resist tugging at his hair. It won’t be long at all.

But Will doesn’t dwell on it, already half past horny and adamant to get what he wants. He wastes no time in undoing Kyle’s slacks and yanking at the front of his boxers, not bothering to get his clothes off all the way. Will tucks the elastic of Kyle’s underwear under his balls, gleeful as he sees Kyle’s dick bob, welcoming, already half-hard.

“Knew you were happy to see me,” Will says, face close enough to Kyle that he’s sure that he can feel Will’s breath over his dick.

Kyle just groans, half-encouraging, and that’s enough of a go-ahead for Will.

He licks his palm and grips at the base at the same time that he takes the tip in his mouth, carefully cataloguing the sharp breath that Kyle tries, but fails, to hide.

Will keeps going, starts to slowly pump the length of it. Once he feels it grow, just a little, he gets going with his mouth, too. He runs his tongue over the slit, coaxing Kyle’s precome and dutifully swallowing it in quick, hard sucks that drive Kyle wild.

In fact, Kyle makes a choked noise, gasping. He mumbles something, and Will doesn't quite catch it, but that’s fine, the message is received all the same.

He uses his free hand to grab at Kyle’s hands, where they’re still gripping the desk like a lifeline, like if he lets go he might die. Will doesn't understand why he’s still holding out, as if it makes that much of a difference when he’s already got his cock halfway down Will’s throat.

To even further his point, Kyle lets him relocate his hands, doesn’t even fight it. Will runs his finger over his bony joints, pausing pointedly over Kyle’s wedding ring, accusing. Kyle makes a strangled noise above him, so Will keeps going, tugs at his hand instead.

Once he continues, Kyle completely allows Will to guide his hand into his hair. He grips a fistful of blond almost immediately, even. He holds onto him, doesn't try to pull or push or tug, but keeps his grip firm, like it grounds him.

Will supposes it might, but he doesn’t really care _what_ it does for Kyle as long as it does _something_. As long as it keeps his hand there, right where Will likes it, he won’t go questioning it.

Satisfied with the development in Kyle’s participation, Will begins to bob his head, curling his lips tightly around his teeth and carefully sliding down a little bit more each time. He keeps a steady rhythm, not too fast, not too slow, but takes his time, progressing lower and lower in small, calculated increments.

It’s done with skill, with expertise, even. It’s done with a few years of practice, a few years of experience.

It’s done with familiarity.

Maybe that’s why Kyle’s not as into it as he used to be. Maybe Will’s not as malleable and naive and _his_ anymore. Maybe it scares him, knowing that Will has grown up, has realized some things, has finally figured him out.

It’s an amusing thought, one that Will mulls over, even as he approaches the base of Kyle’s dick. But if that’s what’s going through Kyle’s head, it’s for naught, it’s a waste. Will doesn’t care this way or that about their situation, not anymore.

It’s behind him, it doesn’t define him in any way, never truly did. So it’d be ridiculous of Kyle to dread on it, when even Will himself is not. When even Will himself is just here looking for a good time, looking to spread the love.

In as much of a hands-on method as possible.

But, that doesn’t mean that Will can’t have a little fun. He pulls off, for just a second, lips still close enough to brush at the tip of Kyle’s dick when he speaks. He looks up at Kyle devilishly, bats his lashes.

“Whose mouth is better? Mine or Ka—”

“Don’t,” Kyle says quickly, cutting him off. “Don’t go there.”

Will doesn't say anything else, just takes the tip back into his mouth and hums, amused. Thought so.

Kyle exhales sharply through his nose somewhere above Will and it snaps him back into focus, until he can feel Kyle’s dick heavy on his tongue, brushing over the back of his throat just briefly, right before he bobs back up until it’s just the tip in his mouth.

Will keeps doing that, relaxing his throat and going all the way down, nose squished into Kyle’s pelvis. He hallows his cheeks when he can, keeps it tight and wet and loose. It’s exactly the way Kyle likes it, has always liked it. Like Will could ever forget.

Kyle’s legs are shaking and he’s leaning more and more on the desk, clinging to it for balance. He’s finally come around and got his other hand in Will’s hair, too now, grip firmer now, a little more encouraging. If he’s bucking up just a little bit, Will won’t call him out on it, not when it feels the way it does.

Sure, it’s been a while, but Will can still pick out the signs, can still somewhat read him. He’s getting there, not quite at the edge but well on his way. So Will shifts — never missing a beat as he continues working Kyle’s cock — until he’s got Kyle’s foot, still in his stupid, proper leather shoes, between his legs.

He hums, more so knowing, rather than hoping, that the message will get across.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay,” Kyle swallows, then curses. But he follows through, pushes his foot out until it’s pressed against Will’s erection, where it’s straining his pants. Will sighs, warm air flowing around Kyle’s cock, and grinds into it, chasing after the relief that he’s been craving, been helpless for.

“Christ,” he hears Kyle groan, low and breathy. Probably doesn’t even know he’d said it, knowing how he gets, how he is, how he’s always been. Will would put money on it, if he could.

Kyle’s completely gone by now, and Will can tell by the way he starts to push down on his head, starts holding him down just a little. His hips chase after the warmth of Will’s mouth, frantically going after release.

Will gets his fist on the bottom half again, twisting his wrist and using the wet mix of precome and saliva to find the right balance between perfectly dirty and perfectly rough. Kyle keens and Will takes great satisfaction in it, goes harder.

Kyle somehow manages to move his foot, pushes into Will and rolls his ankle in lazy circles. Will groans, vibrating around his cock. Kyle’s hands go painfully tight, twisting his hair, messing it into knots.

Will takes that as his cue and yanks his hands off, a little harshly, deepthroating Kyle one last time, all the way down, before quickly pulling back all the way until it’s just the tip in his mouth. Will sucks, sucks hard, and braces himself.

Just as he expected, Kyle comes, filling his mouth quickly and without warning. _Typical_. So he takes it, swallows what he can, but feels plenty of it dribble out the corners of his mouth and down his chin.

He doesn’t focus on it though, quickly pulls the neckline of his shirt up over his mouth, hastily wiping away the immediate mess. It sticks to his skin, once his shirt falls back to his chest, but he barely realizes, preoccupied.

He greedily falls into Kyle’s leg, his shin, his ankle, his foot. He grinds down on him shamelessly, _wanton_ , searching desperately for his orgasm.

“Fuck, take it,” Kyle grunts, low but firm. Will glances at him through his eyelashes, a tilt of his head, surprised. Kyle makes a face but nods, once, and that does it, that’s all Will needs.

He shuts his eyes, overwhelmed, forehead rested on Kyle’s knee. He clenches fists into the stupid pleats of Kyle’s slacks, probably wrinkling them, but he doesn’t care, is maybe a little satisfied that underneath it all, he can still wreck Kyle like this.

Will comes in his pants, messy and sticky and disgusting. It’s intense, it’s a lot, just because he’s been pushing for this for so long, has waited so patiently to get this. He makes some embarrassing noises, ones he’d never admit to, but ones that Kyle’s already well-acquainted with.

It takes him a minute to catch his breath, but he does, and he stands. He gives Kyle a once over, looks him in the eye. His jaw sets, and Kyle sighs, nods. They don’t say anything, but the words left unsaid disturb the silence, leaving a conversation lingering.

Will gets it, knows what Kyle can’t find the words to say it. So he shrugs, straightens himself out, and grabs his jacket, shrugging it on and buttoning it until it mostly hides the evidence of their afternoon.

“Text me,” he says.

And he goes, doesn't look back.

 

* * *

 

 

William Nylander is eighteen and so incredibly naive.

Not that he realizes, especially not at the time, anyway.

It’s not like this is the first time he’s been away from home, far from it, actually, but there’s a major difference between a six hour drive through the Swedish countryside and a twelve hour flight halfway across the world. There’s a freedom, of sorts, being so far removed from his parents, from his family, from his childhood home.

It makes him feel that much more of an adult than he really is. It makes him feel like he could do anything he wants, anything he pleases, with the whole universe at his fingertips.

Will’s not completely on his own, he’s living with Loov, who cooks him Swedish meatballs and begrudgingly lets him run his internet bill up. Who helps him sort out the differences on this side of the ocean, the ones that he’s forgotten since he was a kid.

He doesn’t even realize how much he really had forgotten, had left here in North America, when his family had permanently moved home. Home to Stockholm. He doesn’t even remember when he started thinking of Stockholm as home, not truly, anyway. But at some point he did, at some point he had turned in his life here for the one he had built in Sweden.

Yet, he doesn’t realize any of this until he’s here, all on his own in Toronto, trying to figure it out all over again.

But that’s half of the fun, really, exploring his new home like it’s an adventure, like there’s new things for him to uncover and collect. Experiences to be had, things to be learned, people to meet.

Loov is more like a big brother, a guide. He lets Will do his thing, as long as he mostly behaves and cleans up after himself. He’s not his babysitter, not his keeper, and it’s good that way. Loov doesn’t question him or nag at him. He lets Will come to him when he needs to but doesn’t push him when he doesn’t want to be pushed.

Which is good, because Will is eighteen and goes out often enough, be it with the team guys or with his friends outside of hockey. He drinks and dances and has good times. Meets plenty of girls, maybe a handful of boys, but never anyone that keeps his interest for longer than a fleeting moment. His contacts list grows, his snap score rises, and that’s satisfying enough, for now.

Especially when he’s got hockey, has to focus on hockey. Because sure, he goes out and does his thing, but at the end of the day, he knows his priorities, lives and breathes his goals and aspirations. He’s come halfway across the world for this, so he doesn’t even think about giving it less than a hundred and ten percent.

So, in no particular order, Will does whatever it is that teenagers do, conquers his new city, and plays a lot of hockey.

And the undisturbed success of it gives him an abundance of confidence (as false as it may actually be) that he wields freely, throwing it around carelessly, like it’s expendable, almost. He radiates it, filling the room and easily affecting those around him, infectious.

Will doesn’t know, doesn’t realize it, not at first. But when he does, it’s like he unlocks the next level, figures out the true potential here. By now, he knows the difference between the guys who have their eyes on him and the ones that are just amused, nothing else. He knows which guys on the team are which, can sort them out pretty easily.

He knows that Dubas watches him, sometimes for a little too long. Longer than anyone else on staff ever does, lingering, almost.

And it’s not conclusive, but Will is overflowing with confidence, still riding on the high of life.

It’s a dangerous thing, soaring without ever looking down.

 

~

 

Dubas pulls him aside after practice one day, taps him on the shoulder and asks him to meet him in his office once he’s finished up.

Will doesn’t show it, of course he doesn’t, but he’s admittedly nervous. He goes through the past few days, the past few weeks, trying to figure out what he must’ve done to piss off the FO. He’s been playing alright, not exceptional but definitely not bad. He thinks it hasn’t been bad, at least. It’s still very new, and a little different than the Elite, so maybe he’s missed something, miscalculated the standard, even.

But he doesn’t know, not for sure, so he showers quickly enough, throws on his sweats in a rush, and futilely tries to pat his hair dry.

He tries to keep his chin up, tries to keep the usual swagger in his step, but he can’t help but feel incredibly small, incredibly out of place, going to Dubas’s proper, name-plated office in his sweats and his slides.

It turns out to be for nothing, because Dubas is lounging lazily in his chair, absently swivelling back and forth. He’s wearing proper pressed slacks, proper leather shoes, but he’s still in his warm-up jacket and a baseball hat.

Will still doesn’t feel any better about it.

“Hey, Will, go ahead and sit,” Dubas says, casual. It puts Will even more on edge.

“So,” he continues, “how are you settling into the team so far?”

Cautiously, Will makes a noncommittal noise. “I’ve been feeling pretty good, I hope it looks that way, too.”

Dubas nods, thoughtfully, and grins. “Yeah, you definitely look good.”

And, in a room silent save for the buzz of the overhead lights, the sentence lingers. Will knows that there are words left unsaid there, knows that there’s some meaning, heavy.

He doesn’t quite know what it is, what exactly it means, so he shifts in his seat, a little uncomfortably. Dubas keeps looking at him, eyeing him up, and there’s something, a tug, in the back of his head that isn’t so sure, that warns him to just get up and leave while he still can.

But William Nylander is eighteen.

And so incredibly naive.

 

* * *

 

 

Everyone had known, so it shouldn’t hit Will as hard as it does, but he wakes up to an email notification on his lock screen, with Kyle in the subject line.

He only gets notifications if they automatically filter as ‘important,’ so it’s only ever bills or the team or, most importantly, his agent. So Will wakes up pretty fast, just in case he’s been—

Well, no. He reads the notification blurb in full and it’s not that, definitely not that. His panic recedes for a minute, but then the situation begins to process and it clicks. Will’s heart rate speeds up again, but not quite in the same way.

He’s happy for Kyle, he really is. And yeah, it’s been a while, but Will would be down for… for… their _whatever_ it is they did or had.

So with that in mind, Will gets ready for the day. Splashes his face, scrubs his teeth, combs out the bedhead.

He stares at his phone for a minute, thoughtfully. It’s a risk, but Will is older now, and fueled with a different type of confidence, built up from he’s learned and what he knows. Besides, it’s been a while since he’s been properly wined and dined. He grabs his phone and sends the text.

 

 **will:** **congrats man.** **dinner?**

 

~

 

As soon as Will walks into the restaurant, slides into the booth in the back, secluded from everyone else, he knows something's up.

Kyle’s wearing the whole suit, tie perfectly done up in a trinity knot and everything. He still look like himself, of course, but his face is a little less round around the edges, eyes a little darker.

He looks pleasant enough, greets Will with a smile and cadence, but Will feels like it’s not quite right. It’s not ingenuine but it’s a little too stiff, a little too impersonal, a little too _media_ , and that’s the moment he gets it, that’s the moment he knows for sure.

“So,” Will says the minute he sits down and the hostess leaves. “I guess we’re not going to fuck then, huh?”

“Christ,” Kyle shifts uncomfortably, absently fiddles with the ring on his finger. Then, put out, “nice to see you, too, Will.”

Twiddling with his salad fork, Will shrugs. “Might as well cut to the chase.”

“Why don’t you just order a nice steak and we can talk about it,” Kyle says, like he’s been anticipating this. He takes a steady sip of his water, a little out of his element. Will watches the bob of his adam’s apple. Kyle watches Will watch.

But Will behaves, for now. “You’re buying, right?”

Will’s a twenty-something year old professional hockey player, he won’t turn down a good steak.

Kyle makes a face. “You never change, do you?”

“No,” Will confirms, abandoning the fork to inspect the spoon instead. “But _you_ do?”

But he doesn’t push it when Kyle doesn’t answer immediately. Leaves the thought hanging in favor of looking at the menu. Will doesn’t hold back, doesn’t bat an eye, when he relays his order to the waitress, sweetly naming dish after dish.

Not that Kyle is surprised. He just stares at him, a challenge, a look that says ‘really, Will, are you really doing this?’ but a look that Will is not unfamiliar with.

So Kyle lets Will eat him out of his wallet, lets Will make snide comments throughout dinner, petulant and pouty as ever. It’s not even like Will is usually like this, not anymore. There’s something about sitting here, across from Kyle in his stupid suit, that reaches into his archives and pulls out this behavior.

“Can you tell me why?” Will huffs, once their plates have been cleared.

And then Kyle’s playing with his wedding band again, fidgeting. Will doesn't miss it, pointedly glares at his hand.

“It’s a lot more serious now,” Kyle finally settles on, but won’t look Will in the eye. “I can’t be mixing work life and personal life. Not like before.”

“Is that the real reason?” Will says again, looks at the ring again.

“Oh, come on, you can’t do that,” Kyle says, hushed. “I love my wife, you know that. You’ve always known that.”

“Funny way of showing it,” Will counters. “It’s never stopped you before.”

Kyle flushes, ears going pink. He’s much Will’s senior but he still looks strangely young right now, uncomfortable and guilty and red. This is the guy who holds his team, his future, his hockey, in his hands. Will, of all people, _rationally_ knows that Kyle is fit for this, but right here, in this restaurant, in this moment, he has a spark of doubt.

But Kyle doesn’t let him think too hard about it, cuts in again, “I can’t keep doing this to her.”

And then it all makes sense.

“She knows, then,” Will states, nonchalant. His expression is flat, and he starts fiddling with the silverware, again. He doesn’t look at Kyle, not at first, draws it out. The silence is heavy and the tension is taught.

“Not about you,” Kyle says quickly, but then immediately regrets it as soon as the words fall from his lips, face melting. “No, wait, I mean—”

“So that’s how it is?” Will doesn’t raise his voice, he’s smarter than that, but the tone is there, the heat is there. “Who was it? It was a rookie, wasn’t it? You would.”

Kyle shakes his head. He doesn’t look at him, won’t look at him. “Does it matter?”

But Will doesn’t let up, “just tell me who.”

"Will—"

"Don't you think I deserve to know? Tell me."

And then, quiet, guilty, “Kasperi.”

Will swallows, feels his whole body flare up in white heat. He knows it’s irrational, knows that he can’t even be mad, that there’s nothing to be mad about. It’s predictable, unsurprising, even. Kyle’s got a type, one that Will just happens to fill, and he’s known that. Has always, always known that. He doesn’t even know what to call whatever it is they did, if it’s even is worthy of a label. Will knows all these things, but somehow it still hurts, of course it does.

But then Will simmers, recollects himself. His ears are still ringing and there’s still a weight in his chest, but he pushes it aside, ignores it. He swallows again, then shrugs it all away, puts on the appropriate face, and leans in.

“Well,” he manages to smirk, coy, to look at Kyle through his eyelashes. “I’m not Kas.”

And he watches, satisfied, as Kyle’s eyes darken and he breathes in, sharp.

It’s gluttonous, indulgent, but Will absolutely thrives on it. He’s got Kyle right where he wants him, knows that Kyle will give into him, eventually.

He always does.

  
  
****

**Author's Note:**

> ( **From the prompt:** _Kyle Dubas/William Nylander._ they used to hook up when willie was on the marlies and now they're both up and willie thinks its gonna be the same but dubas is all serious now and wear suits and doesnt want to fuck in a cupboard at the rink any more. so william has to seduce him. If you're comfortable with writing infidelity, I'm into that- if not, handwave that Dubas isn't married.)
> 
> Hi so I know this isn’t exactly what you asked for but it kind of started running in its own direction and I couldn’t catch it but I hope you still enjoyed!
> 
>  
> 
> ~
> 
>  
> 
> **Notes:**  
>  • First off, a HUGE shout out to the Pucking Rare mods for setting this up and for all the work they put into creating and running this challenge!  
> • Thank to G, R, and L for reading through this!!! Love yall  
> • Title from “Hold Me Down” by Halsey which, in this universe at least, describes Will and Kyle’s situation to a TEE  
> • I’m not promising a sequel but I’m not _not_ promising a sequel :-)  
>  • Follow me on twitter! @[pinkmanite](https://twitter.com/pinkmanite)


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